


ostraka

by looselipssinksubs



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 06:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looselipssinksubs/pseuds/looselipssinksubs
Summary: “And what if I never stop being afraid?” said Kamet, almost bitterly. “What then?”"We’ll just have to set aside a broken crockery fund, then. Someone’s got to keep the potter in business.”(Kamet keeps spilling and breaking things; Costis keeps calm and carries on.)





	ostraka

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jain/gifts).



> Many thanks to [westwind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwind/pseuds/westwind) for beta-reading!
> 
> Note: ostraka is the plural of ostrakon, the pieces of broken pottery most famous for being used in votes to exile people in ancient Greece (hence ostracism), but which can refer to any such fragments with writing on them.

i.

Costis was on the front step of their house, reclining on his elbows and watching the world go by, when he heard the crash inside.

A fairly large crash, that. Not a dinner plate breaking.

He put his head in the door. “Kamet?” No answer. Costis went in.

Kamet’s face was sick and greenish. The hallway between the cellar door and the kitchen was now a river of olive oil, with a neat little splash of shards before Kamet’s feet.

“Are you hurt?” said Costis.

With an effort, Kamet looked at him, then cast his eyes down again. “N-no.”

“It’s fine.” Costis pretended to misunderstand why Kamet stood frozen in center of the mess. “Take your sandals off when you get to the edge and you won’t track it any further.”

Kamet shuddered, but did exactly as Costis had said, without ever once looking up. Costis’s sandals, luckily, were the kind without laces; he kicked them off and said, “Here, put these on.”

Kamet didn’t move, only stood shaking. Costis went to him and put his hands on his shoulders, very lightly.

“Kamet,” he said as gently as he knew how. “Kamet, it doesn’t matter. So long as you didn’t cut yourself. That’s all I care about.” He pulled Kamet into his arms, and Kamet took a deep breath and pressed his cheek to Costis’s shoulder.

“If you break every amphora in the house, we can replace them. Except the peculiar Sounisian olives.” Costis was trying to be humorous. They both disliked those.

“I _know_ you won’t be angry at me,” said Kamet, taking refuge in snappishness but nevertheless speaking into Costis’s shoulder. “I know, all right? You don’t have to tell me.”

Costis rubbed between his shoulderblades. “I know you know. I’m telling you anyway.” He could feel Kamet making an effort to slow his breathing and stop shaking. He wasn’t trying to move away, so Costis held on to him.

“And what if I never stop being afraid?” said Kamet, almost bitterly. “What then?”

Costis bent his head and kissed him firmly on the temple, and then again in the same place. Kamet clenched his hands in the back of Costis’s tunic.

“We’ll just have to set aside a broken crockery fund, then. _Someone’s_ got to keep the potter in business.”

Kamet’s fists slowly— very slowly— opened.

 

ii.

The next thing Kamet broke was one of the oatmeal bowls.

Most of the kitchenware had come along with the house, and among these was a set of two bowls painted with a design of pomegranates inside the rim. They were indistinguishable from any other bowls, but somehow ended up designated specifically for porridge, usually oatmeal. Without ever discussing it, they had simply never got around to putting soup in them, and one day when Kamet had said in passing, “no, it’s behind the oatmeal bowls,” Costis had felt sure that his face was glowing. He’d turned away to hide his smile. They had particular household names, now. It had been like that in his family: the second-best tree, the chariot (a cart that was always going to be repaired later), the camel blanket (made of camel hair, not made for camels).

Now they had their own names for things, because this was their house, _theirs_ , together.

One day, the oatmeal bowl slipped out of Kamet’s hands.

“Costis!”

Costis was already in the doorway. He opened his mouth to reassure Kamet, but then he saw that Kamet’s pointing hand was not shaking with fear. It was outrage.

“Why,” demanded Kamet, “is there a _rodent_ in the kitchen?”

Costis came in cautiously to have a look. “Oh! There you are, I was looking for you,” he said to the unfairly maligned dormouse, curled up in the kitchen cabinet. “I’m sorry,” he added, turning to Kamet. “I don’t know how she got out.”

“This is unsanitary,” said Kamet, crossing his arms.

Costis held out the dormouse in his cupped hands.

“No,” said Kamet firmly. He backed away a little, around the shards of the bowl he’d dropped by accident.

Costis smiled and stepped closer, til their heads were bent over the sleeping dormouse. Kamet stroked its fur with one finger. “If any more of your… _specimens..._ escape, I’m putting them in the stew.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No,” said Kamet, and then looked triumphantly up at him. “But I will write to Aris and tell him—”

“No—”

“ _Yes_. I will tell him you named a beetle after him.”

Costis clutched the dormouse to himself in mock concern.

“I’m going to describe just how many unnecessary legs it has,” Kamet went on. “It’s the worst beetle I’ve ever seen. Why do you have that silly grin on your face?”

 

iii.

“Kamet, don’t—”

The shattering tile sprayed fragments everywhere.

“He’s not venomous! You didn’t need to do that!”

“It was in my boot! It was right inside my boot, and it bit me!”

“I’m sorry he bit you, but he’s not venomous, I swear. There’s no need to throw things at him.— Come here, sweetheart. It’s all right.”

“I can’t believe you just called a serpent ‘sweetheart.’”

“Shh, it’s all right.”

“ _It_ bit _me_ , might I remind you.”

“You put your foot in his hiding-place. Of course he bit you.”

“... it’s me or the snake, Costis.”

“Don’t worry,” Costis told the snake. “He doesn’t mean it.”

 

iv.

The parchment was black, the desk dripped black onto the chair, the chair trickled black into black pools on the floor. Kamet thought, distantly, that his legs might even be stained right through the trousers.

That thought was formless and hard to come by. It was receding, borne away by the current of dread: _this is it, everything is ruined, you can’t get this much ink out of wood, there’s too much to wipe away, this is—_

_Nothing, compared to cave lions. This is nothing compared to leaping out of a burning riverboat. This is nothing compared to kicking Costis in the groin and being forgiven anyway. This is nothing compared to lying to Costis and being forgiven, insulting his country and his intelligence—_

Kamet straightened so that his shoulders were no longer about his ears, and tried to think. He could think, on occasion.

“What’s— my god, what happened?”

“I knocked it over,” he said through the buzzing in his head. “I— I’ve never knocked over an inkwell in my life.”

Costis scrubbed his hand through his hair, considering the disaster. “Why don’t you take those trousers off and I’ll be right back.”

“That is not how I imagined you’d say it,” muttered Kamet, still fighting to get clear of the wave of _everything is ruined_ crashing over his head. Then he realized what he’d just said out loud.

“No, neither did I,” said Costis, and then _he_ realized what he’d said.

Kamet had already been staring in horror, so his expression didn’t change much. Costis, though— Costis lit up, like the dawn, like ships on fire. He went to Kamet, cheerfully stepping over the lagoon of ink like it was nothing, and paused in front of him.

Costis stood close to him all the time— hugged him, thumped his shoulder (though lightly), draped his arm over him while walking. He kissed him on the cheek or the forehead, on occasion.

This was not the same thing.

Kamet tilted his face up. Costis brushed his thumb over Kamet’s lower lip, and finally, finally bent to kiss him on the mouth.

Kamet closed his eyes— he’d always meant to keep his eyes open the first time, to see how Costis looked, but his eyes closed without him willing it— and, forgetting the ink on his palms, he brought his hands up to bury them in Costis’s coarsely curling hair.

 

v.

“I have stripes. You gave me black stripes!”

“And spots.”

“I’m going to look like I lost a fight with a squid.”

“I’ll help you wash.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you will— Kamet, wait—”

It was too late. Kamet was already sitting up from the bed, his feet firmly planted in the ink.

“Oh,” he said faintly, and then sat up straighter, his face brightening. “I suppose now we have an excuse to redo all the floors, like you wanted.”

“All part of my brilliant plan,” agreed Costis.

**Author's Note:**

> Jain, I hope you enjoy this little fic! :)


End file.
